


A Visit from Mum

by HarrogateBelmont



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26051692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarrogateBelmont/pseuds/HarrogateBelmont
Summary: Robin's mother comes to London for a visit. How will she react to the news that Robin and Cormoran are romantically involved?
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 55
Kudos: 101





	1. The Phone Call

**Author's Note:**

> Well... I used to write fan fiction, a long time ago. This is my first attempt in about a decade. Pandemics will do that to you. I'm not really sure what the point of this story is - mainly an exercise in reviving my writing habit, I think. But I have so enjoyed the escape of reading the stories here over the past few months, so if even one or two people enjoy this, then I feel like I've given something back to the community. I wanted to wait until this was all written and 100% perfect before posting, but I'm stuck at 85% and not perfect and hoping that posting the first chapter will motivate me!
> 
> I'm not British, so this may miss the mark on some expressions, etc. Suggestions and critiques are definitely welcome. Some of the later parts are heavily dependent on my imagination and Google Maps, rather than any intimate knowledge of London.

Cormoran Strike returned to his office on a cold April afternoon to see his partner, Robin Ellacott, sitting on the sofa in their small front office, looking at her phone, which was lying beside her, set to “speaker.” When she saw Strike walk in, she smiled at him, mouthed  _ Mum _ , and picked up the phone again to hold it to her ear. 

“I know, she’s always annoyed you,” Robin said, rolling her eyes. “But she’s the mother of your only grandchildren, so try not to take it personally.” 

Mrs. Ellacott apparently had a lot to say about her daughter-in-law, and Robin nodded her head repeatedly, occasionally muttering  _ mm-hmm _ , while motioning to Strike to come closer and look at a pile of papers balancing on the arm of the sofa. 

After removing his overcoat, Strike ambled over to the sofa, and sat down, very close to Robin, with a thud that caused the sofa to emit its dependable farting noise. Robin covered her mouth to stifle a snort. Instead of looking at the papers, Strike leaned over, brushed Robin’s hair aside, and placed the softest of kisses on her exposed neck. She closed her eyes for a moment, sighing, and then opened them wide, mouthed  _ not at work! _ at him, and pointed at the papers again to distract him.

“Yes, Mum, I know. But people raise children differently now than when we were young.”

Mrs. Ellacott continued to talk. Strike couldn’t hear the questions, but the answers made for an amusing one-sided story. 

“No… not right now.” Robin said. And then, “ _ Pushing  _ 30! What does that even  _ mean?” _ Strike finally glanced over at the papers.

The lease on their space in Denmark Street really was coming to an end. The landlord had given them through the end of June to vacate. The 12 Bar Cafe on the first floor had relocated and the building was starting to have an abandoned feel to it already, especially because Robin and Strike were often absent themselves. They had hired a part-time assistant, Paul, a student friend of Spanner’s, who staffed the office reliably every morning.

They had started looking for a new location. Although Strike had been willing to give up the convenience of living in the same building as his office, Robin was doggedly trying to find real estate that might include a live-in possibility. Strike had hoped that they might be able to purchase a property as an investment, but Robin, experienced after trying to purchase with Matthew, had been correct in assuming that affordable options in the same general area of London were miles beyond their price range. They had weighed the pros and cons of purchasing something much further away from the center. They both felt that a remote location might provide a sense of security for clients who wished to be secretive about their needs, but they also feared that moving away from the center might make their own lives more inconvenient. The papers that Robin had printed out from their agent showed a slightly shabby space that looked like it had been a hair salon, complete with a slightly more modern-looking one-bedroom flat that spanned the upper two floors. Robin had circled “basement storage” in the listing. The rental price, while slightly higher than what they had agreed was reasonable, was not outrageous, and the location was very, very good. Robin had written “4:00” in neat handwriting near the top. Strike looked over at her.

_ Today?  _ he mouthed, and she nodded. He gave a thumbs up and leaned over to place another kiss on her neck, and was swatted away again. 

They had been more than business partners for two months now. Robin’s divorce had been finalized in the cold months of February, but their first kiss had occurred a few weeks beforehand, when an angry Matthew had shown up at the Denmark Street office, furious that he had lost his job and blaming Robin for every bad turn in his life. He had been slightly tipsy from a pub visit prior to his arrival. Strike had stood back, trying hard not to interfere as Matthew hurled insults at his ex-wife, and, eventually, at Strike as well. Robin had handled the situation with a measured calm, fussing with papers on her desk and letting him rant. Eventually, she had asked Matthew to leave. He refused. Strike stepped forward, grabbing Matthew by the collar of his shirt, and partially lifted and dragged him toward the door. He had told Matthew, in that moment, things that he had never told Robin - that she was the most intelligent, fair, and perceptive woman he knew, and that Matthew had only himself to blame for not supporting her success. Then, with a great deal of self-restraint, he’d pushed Matthew gently out onto the landing, watched him descend the stairs, and then shut the office door and locked it.

He had turned to face Robin, expecting to see tears, or frustration, or some state of distress. He had also expected to see her across the room, standing by the desk. Instead, she was right in front of him, eyes bright, with a smile on her face. Strike had started to apologize for stepping in, but he had barely said the words when Robin had placed her hands on his shoulders, whispered “There’s nothing to apologize for, Cormoran,” and kissed him. 

Strike had found it difficult to believe that their relationship had moved to a new level. They had agreed to try to separate work from their personal life as much as possible. For the most part, they had managed, mostly because their heavy caseload and new part-time assistant had meant that they were rarely alone during the daytime. However, whenever an opportunity arose, they seemed to take extended lunch breaks that involved very little food and quite a lot of activity. 

“Alright, Mum,” Robin was saying. “I’ll meet you at the station on Sunday. Yes. Love you!” Robin clicked the hangup icon on her phone with a definitive gesture, and leaned over to give Strike a proper kiss on the lips.

“What’s that about?” he asked.

“Mum. Misses me. Wants to come up for a few days and make sure I’m not wasting away.” She frowned. “She’s going to stay in my room. Might put a crimp in our style.” Robin looked at him, thoughtful. “I haven’t said anything to her. Yet. But I’d like to.”

A strange knot of anxiety hit Strike in the stomach, not unlike the way he had felt on the first day of a new school as a child. He had met Robin’s mother on several occasions, and her father only once, briefly, at Robin’s wedding. At their last encounter, Mrs. Ellacott had been angry with Strike for sacking Robin right before her wedding. He wasn’t sure how she would react about this latest development. He and Robin had been almost deliriously happy in the last two months. They had kept their relationship a secret from even their closest friends for several weeks, and had only recently begun to let those in their inner circle know what had happened. Part of Strike wanted to shout from the rooftops, and he loved walking down the street with Robin or just sitting at a pub, knowing that they shared a new intimacy. But part of him was afraid about what would happen once their families understood what was going on. They had not yet said anything to his sister, Lucy, nor to his aunt and uncle, mainly because there had been no natural opportunity.

“Okay,” Strike said. “I know you probably have to say something to her. But do you think she’ll be upset?” 

“No,” said Robin, taking his hand. “She wants me to be happy, and she knows Matthew was wrong for me. She might be cautious. But I think she’ll be okay. I was thinking - I’m on the calendar to watc h Her Majesty  on Monday, but it should be pretty straightforward. Mum wants to do some sightseeing, see a show, all those things. But we can do that Sunday, and I thought she might come with me to work on Monday. It will be a good cover, and I think I’ll talk to her then. If all goes well, we can all go to dinner Monday night.”

Memories flooded back to Strike. He remembered, although he tried not to compare, how Charlotte had used him as a weapon to anger her parents, about that awful luncheon with Charlotte’s father. He felt a surge of appreciation for Robin’s courtesy and her honesty. He just hoped that Mrs. Ellacott would find the generosity in her heart and mind to accept him.


	2. The Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Cormoran look at some real estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read or commented on the first chapter! I'm just relieved that anyone looked at it. I spent a lot of time browsing Google Maps and London real estate listings to write this. If I can't travel right now, at least I can pretend, right? It's basically all about me indulging my fantasy to live in London some day. :) I know there's probably an unrealistic "Friends" element to this chapter, and I'm usually the first person to mock any television or film that features someone with a low-paying job living in a spacious New York apartment, but that's what imagination is for, right? I tried not to make it too unbelievable.

Later that afternoon, Robin and Strike exited the Tube at Liverpool Street and veered around the train station to head toward Artillery Lane. Strike noticed with amusement that there was a fancy pub on the corner called “Dirty Dick’s.” They turned down Artillery Passage, which was a narrow pedestrian street. They saw Felicia, their  estate agent waiting for the outside one of the entrances, which, they saw as they appro ached, was a shuttered hair salon called “Hairstory.”

“I can see why they didn’t make it,” Strike said.

Felicia, a calm, cool blonde in her early forties, smiled at his remark. “They did make it. Rather too well. They’ve moved to a larger space and were willing to take the penalties to break the lease. Even so, they’re desperate to see this place rented.”

Felicia pulled out her phone and glanced at it before typing in some numbers on the door lock. Then she continued, “Even so, this has been vacant for a while now and they’re desperate. The salon had originally taken out a five-year lease and had to break it, and they’re looking for someone to take over the remaining three years, at a discount, with the option to renew.”

She opened the door, which stuck a little. “It’s a fab location. Might need some adjustments for your business, but the owner is open to just about anything as long as you ask before you install walls, things like that.” 

Strike felt a strange thrill when he stepped inside, which was odd, considering this was still very much a space that had been a hair salon, a type of business he rarely frequented. The previous tenants had taken the salon chairs and sinks, but ghosts of that equipment remained on the floors and walls. There was still a reception desk up front, near the entrance. The open room had many more mirrors and plumbing than was necessary for a detective business. The wood floors were worn, and the main room was approximately the size of both Strike’s and Robin’s offices combined. 

“There’s a smaller back room that could be used as a private office,” said Felicia, pointing to a door at the back of the space. “They used it for services that required more privacy.” Felicia reported this information in the same cool voice that she used to describe paint colors. Strike snorted.

“Waxing,” clarified Robin. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

The little office had a small window, and Strike felt relieved. He knew he should stop smoking. He had, in fact, cut back considerably since he had restarted his exercise routine. But still, although they had never stated that the lack of a window would be an issue in selecting a space, Strike knew that it was one convenience he was unwilling to part with.

“Look at this loo!” Not so interested in the office, Robin had given it one glance and then stepped back out to look at the rest of the space. “It’s enormous!” It was not, in fact, enormous, but it was certainly more luxurious than their own office toilet on the landing. It had newer fixtures, a tile floor, and a small walk-in shower. 

“You said there was storage below?” asked Robin, as she moved towards a door marked “Employees Only.” 

Felicia showed them the light switch, and they descended some rickety stairs to a small, but finished, basement space. It did not smell musty and seemed to be dry. “Good place for the archive file cabinets,” said Robin. “And maybe the safe?”

Strike had let Robin lead their search for a new location. He was sad to leave Denmark Street, which he felt held so many memories, good and bad, but all symbols of new beginnings for him. He had a hard time imagining working anywhere else. But something about this …  _ hair salon, _ of all things, felt familiar to him. 

He climbed the stairs back into the main space, and turned to Felicia, who was always nearby, but tactfully never  _ too  _ close. “There’s a flat?” 

She brightened. “Yes! There is. And it’s quite lovely. The owner of the salon lived in it, and she definitely took good care of things. It’s two levels, and the entrance is outside, to the left of the office door.” Felicia led them back outside and unlocked another door with a code. The stairs were well-kept and polished, and wide enough that Strike did not feel boxed in as he climbed. They were also not steep. There was another door at the top, to the right, which opened to a living area that was about the same size as the open space below. This, like the downstairs, was open, and very, very bright - there were large windows at the front. At the back end of the flat there was a fairly large kitchen area - simple, with a tall island, and it included a washing machine. 

“The bedroom and bathroom are upstairs,” said Felicia, gesturing to the interior staircase, which led to a bedroom that was as large as the living area, and a bathroom that had a bathtub with a shower attachment.

“You’d be living in luxury,” said Robin, peering into the bedroom. “You’d actually have to touch the floor to get from one room to the other.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “My current living situation is quite convenient for someone in my condition,” he said. But there was humor in his voice. This flat was larger than any he had been accustomed to during any time in his adult life, with the exception of when he had stayed with Charlotte. It was more homey than he might have preferred for himself, although he didn’t mind. He thought about his cramped, close attic quarters in Denmark Street, and felt a sudden, desperate desire to do whatever it would take in order to secure this location.

They descended the stairs, and gave the kitchen one more look. Turning to ask Felicia if there was any possibility of coming down, even a small percentage on the rent, he saw her blonde head disappear through the doorway to the outer stairs, tactfully giving him a few moments alone with Robin to talk.

“What do you think?” Robin was leaning against the kitchen island, and he walked up to her, putting his arms around her waist. He bent down to kiss her once, and then said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s good, yeah. Could work.” 

“It’s about  £ 300 more per month than we’re paying for the office and your flat combined. Not outrageous, and I think we can afford it, although it might be a bit tight if we go through a slow period,” mused Robin, looking as though she were doing calculations in her head. 

Strike was not sure what possessed him to ask the next question. Certainly, this was something that he had not consciously thought about at any point during their relatively new romantic relationship. Had he thought about it, he might have spent too much time dwelling on all the potential hazards that might accompany his proposal. “How much do you pay for your share of your flat right now?” Robin looked at him, puzzled.  Then, slowly, understanding almost before Strike knew what he was doing himself, she asked, “Why?”

He thought about the luxury of waking up next to Robin every morning, of the relief of not worrying if she’d arrived home safely after a late night. Thought about cooking supper with her in a kitchen that was small, but still large enough to accommodate both of them. He saw them smiling at each other across the island as they ate their meal, him sipping a beer and her a glass of wine. Strike tried to think, quickly, of a reason not to go on with his suggestion. What if he wanted to be alone? What if she did? But that already happened, and they both managed to accommodate the situation by steering clear of each other’s spheres until the mood passed. Robin wasn’t intrusive in that way.

Unable to find the right words, he kissed her again. “Dunno,” he mumbled. “It’s just that there’s easily enough room in this place for two people to live. If,” he looked into her eyes, “if they didn’t mind being close now and then and sharing a bedroom.” 

“Cormoran,” Robin said, her voice almost a whisper. “Are you asking me to move in with you?” Then, a grin. “And if so, is it romantically or financially motivated?”

“If I’m honest,” he said, “I didn’t think about it at all until about ninety seconds ago. So I can’t answer.” 

“The fact that you asked without thinking seems to point more to romance,” said Robin. “The truth is, it sounds … lovely. Wonderful. But…” she bit her lip. “I need to mull it over, just a bit. Alright? And in the meantime, I think we should take this place anyway.” 


	3. The Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin's mum arrives in London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summary is literally all that happens in this chapter, LoL. The more I read over what I wrote, and try to figure out the ending, it seems like this entire story is about me wishing I was on holiday in London, enjoying a half-pint of cider at a pub. So thank you for reading a story that could be summarized in about three sentences!

Robin spent Saturday night sleeping alone at her flat, feeling somewhat anxious about her mother’s arrival. She wanted to tidy up - her flatmate, Adam, was extremely neat, but Robin often chose to drape her clothing over a chair rather than put it away. Strike had loaned her the camp bed that he used when circumstances had forced him to sleep in his office, and Robin found that it fit snugly in her room without need for rearranging. Linda would sleep in Robin’s bed. Adam had arranged for tickets to his show, and was hoping to meet them for dinner Sunday evening, following the matinee performance. Robin was relieved that she would not be entirely alone with her mother until Monday morning. 

She surveyed the room one more time before heading to King’s Cross to meet her mother. Most of Robin’s nights with Strike occurred at his tiny flat above their office on Denmark Street, but he did occasionally visit her here, usually when Adam had reason to be away. The bedroom looked to be the picture of a prim single woman’s space. In truth, she did not have a lot of possessions to cause clutter. Over Christmas, Robin had loaded boxes of her belongings into the Land Rover to store at her parents’ house until such time as she might have her own flat or need them again. She had not imagined that the opportunity would arise so soon.

After they had talked with Felicia Friday evening, Robin and Strike had arranged to meet with her Saturday to make a deposit and finalize the details of the lease. They would be able to take possession of the property in a little under three weeks, and they had agreed later in the day that although it would cost them some additional money in double rent, they would hold onto Denmark Street for an extra month and spend the time repurposing the new space for their use. Everything in the office needed a coat of paint, and they were debating whether to cut an interior window into the back office. They also wanted to put up an interior wall so that Robin could have a place to work peacefully, and they wanted to add a desk area for their other staff to use during times when they had to report back to the office. The built-in reception desk would stay, and would give the whole office an air of professionalism, even when their part-time assistant was not working. Robin had felt a thrill when Strike had mentioned booking a professional painter to redo the front entrance with “Strike and Ellacott” written on the door.

The upstairs flat, however, did not need such attention. It was ready for occupancy, and Strike had suggested that he go ahead and move as soon as it was available, so that he could be nearby as they worked on the renovations. He did not make any more mention of Robin sharing the flat, and she knew he was giving her space to make her decision. Robin had loved the bright rooms as much as Strike had, and although she enjoyed her current living situation, the sunny flat on Artillery Passage was almost exactly the type of place she had dreamily imagined she would live when she moved to London. How many times had she been disappointed looking at rentals that were far from her idea of perfection?

In her heart, Robin knew that she was going to accept Strike’s invitation. It was appealing on so many levels. And in her head, she felt that she had a much clearer vision of how to protect herself from any unforeseen or unpleasant circumstances that might arise in the future. From a strictly financial standpoint, sharing the flat with Strike would shave several hundred pounds off of her monthly expenses and she resolved to continue saving that money, in case she ever had need to be on her own again. Never again would she share a bank account with anyone. And as unromantic as it might seem, she was mentally creating a list of ground rules that must be accepted before she made her final decision. She already shared a business with Strike, and that often felt more personal than their romantic relationship. It had also lasted longer, through many ups and downs, and they had proven to each other that they could weather most storms. 

The prospect of her mother’s visit was causing some degree of anxiety though. Robin was preparing herself for the worst. She wanted her mother’s approval of the situation, and the importance of this also irritated her. She was a grown woman, “pushing 30” as her mother had reminded her only a few days earlier, and she certainly should not need anyone’s consent to make life decisions. But she also knew that acceptance by her mother, and by extension, her father and her brothers, would make life easier all around. Linda’s attitude towards Strike over the past year and a half seemed to have softened. She often mentioned how interesting she thought Robin’s work seemed, and Robin knew that her parents were not at all sad to see Matthew out of the picture. But over Christmas, when her brother, Martin, had made a crude joke after Robin had finished telling a story about Strike and a visit to Tottenham, she had seen her mother’s head tilt, and her eyes narrow as she scrutinized her daughter from across the room. At the time, Robin had nothing tangible to hide, but the memory of it had left her feeling confused.

Robin filled an insulated mug with coffee and headed to King’s Cross to meet her mother. She decided to get off at Russell Square and walk a few blocks. London was quiet, most people were at home this early on a Sunday morning, and she felt as though she had the city to herself. King’s Cross was a little busier, but still much calmer than it was during the week. Robin stood at the gates, waiting for her mother’s train to disembark, and soon enough, Linda Ellacott came strolling through the barriers, pulling a neat, aqua-colored roller bag, with a crafty patchwork hold-all hanging from her shoulder, and what looked like a pastry box in her free hand. Robin ran up, hugged her mother, and reached for the roller bag. 

“Betty’s?” asked Robin, nodding towards the box. 

“Not for you!” said Linda. “I thought I’d give them to your flatmate as a thank you for hosting me. Your gift is your mother. And I’ve brought the scarf I finished for you last week.” Almost every neck wrap that Robin owned had been created by her mother, including the one she was currently wearing, and she smiled appreciatively.

“What shall we do first?” Linda asked as they exited the station.

“Adam was able to get us tickets to the matinee today later this afternoon,” answered Robin. “So, I think it’s easiest to drop off your things at the office, go have some lunch, and then it should be time for the show. We’re going to meet Adam afterwards if he can get away, and then we’ll collect your things and head back to the flat.” 

“Sounds lovely,” said Linda. “I’ll just follow your lead.” 

Robin had warned Strike of her plan the day before, and he had told her that he had things to do on Sunday and would likely not be at home when they stopped to drop off her mother’s belongings. He had been somewhat mysterious, but given the events of the last few days, Robin did not feel at all troubled. She assumed she would find out the secret soon enough.

The two women had a pleasant and lighthearted afternoon, strolling around London’s West End, window-shopping, and sitting down to a light lunch before the performance. Robin’s worry that her mother would want to delve into the deeper aspects of her daughter’s personal life immediately were unfounded; Linda spent most of the time filling in Robin on the latest gossip and news from Masham. Robin noted that her mother exercised considerable self-restraint in not reporting on Matthew’s return to his father’s house, although she supposed that her firm insistence that the topic did not interest her the last time she had spoken to her mother must have sunk in. Her mother was worried about her father’s hearing, and Robin stifled a giggle; during her last visit home, her father had taken her aside and confided that he thought that Linda was having trouble with her ears. 

They enjoyed the show, and subsequent dinner with Robin’s flatmate, Adam, who regaled Linda with tales of theatre mishaps he had experienced over the years. By the time they collected Linda’s bags from Denmark Street and made their way back to Robin’s flat, they were both exhausted. Linda protested taking Robin’s bed, but ultimately settled in, and Robin curled up on the cot, which was uncomfortable, but smelled familiarly like Strike - a combination of cigarettes and spice, and she imagined that she was enveloped in a hug as she fell asleep.


	4. The Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linda goes to work with Robin and sees Strike for the first time since Robin's wedding. What will she think?

“You’re sure you don’t mind coming to work with me?” Robin asked her mother. “I could have probably arranged a day off. We can beg off after the surveillance is done - if all goes well we'll be free by mid-afternoon.” 

“I don’t mind at all,” said Linda. “I didn’t give you very much notice, and I have some books to read, my knitting, and from the way you’ve described it, we’ll have plenty of time to catch up, which is all I wanted anyway.” She squeezed Robin’s arm. “It’s just not the same talking on the phone, and I haven’t seen you in person since Christmas.” 

They exited the Tube at Leicester Square, and strolled toward Denmark Street, Robin slowing her pace, conscious of her mother’s bad knee, but knowing that, just like Cormoran, Linda would have to be in a lot of pain before admitting defeat. 

Paul, their assistant, was already in the office, seated at Robin’s old desk. Robin had started using her laptop almost exclusively, and when she and Strike had to be in the office together in the mornings, she would often pull a chair up to the opposite end of his desk and share. Paul was young, still at university, but was both looking for a job and some sort of criminal justice experience. His mother was friends with their friend Nick Herbert’s mother, and he had been overwhelmed with gratitude when she had offered to try to set Paul up with an internship. They had ended up offering him part-time, paid work. Tall and very thin, he was organized and on first impression quiet, and reserved, however, Robin and Strike had learned that the more comfortable he felt, the looser his tongue. He was also extremely eager to do his job correctly. Robin introduced him to her mother, and he greeted her as though this was the most thrilling thing that would happen to him that day, gushing to Linda about how grateful he was for this job opportunity.

Robin heard the door to Strike’s office open and had to do a double-take as she saw him emerge from behind the door. It was only just 9:00, and Strike was showered, shaved, and dressed in a new suit he had purchased a few months earlier. His hair was also considerably shorter. Mentally reviewing the day’s schedule in her mind, Robin could not envision any meeting that would require quite so much attention to appearance. She gave him an approving look, and he smiled back, almost shyly. 

Linda had turned at the sound of the office door opening as well. Paul trailed off whatever he had been saying as Strike took two steps across the room toward her, holding out a hand. “Mrs. Ellacott,” he said. “It’s good to see you.” 

“My!” Linda put a hand to heart in mock amazement. “It’s Linda, and you do clean up well!” Considering that the last time she had seen Strike in person was when he had crashed Robin’s wedding, injured and exhausted, this was a dubious compliment, but Robin could tell that her mother was trying to break the ice. 

“I appreciate that,” said Strike. “You now have the honor of having seen me at my absolute worst and an attempt at best.” Linda laughed, seemingly at ease. “I admit,” she said, “I was half expecting you to walk into the room with a black eye. So this is a pleasant surprise.” Paul asked everyone if they wanted tea, and by the time he returned with their cups, Linda was chatting with Strike as if he were an old and dear friend.

Eventually, they had to get to work. Linda sat down on the old leather sofa, extracted a book from her bag, and pretended not to pay attention. Paul rolled out the standing white board they had purchased, where they updated their cases and calendar weekly. It was their system to review the week on Monday mornings, making adjustments as necessary. Robin was due to watch Her Majesty that day, and Strike had a potential new client visiting at lunchtime, but otherwise, Monday was fairly quiet. Barclay and Andy were both working on a larger case, and Strike and Robin were handling the various smaller ones. Robin tried not to look too closely at Strike as they talked. His suit, which Robin had only seen a handful of times, fit him extremely well, and the haircut was not so short as it had been when he had been in the army - curls still framed his face but the back was short and neat. While Paul was pulling up the waitlist of potential new clients to discuss, Robin allowed her mind to wander, trying to figure out a way to be alone with Strike, even for just one minute. She knew it was not going to be possible, but the imagining part was fun.

Before they began reviewing the client list, Strike cleared his throat, and turned to Paul. “We have an announcement.”

Robin heard a bang, and turned to see that her mother had dropped her book on the floor. Flustered, Linda bent to pick it up.

Strike continued. “We haven’t told Andy or Barclay yet, but we have to tell you this morning, as we’re going to need quite a bit of assistance with this in the next few weeks.”

Paul looked unsure whether to be worried or excited. “Yes, sir?” he said, glancing nervously at Robin. Linda had given up any pretense of reading her book and was staring anxiously at them. 

“It’s nothing bad,” reassured Robin. “Honestly.”

“We’ve found a new office,” said Strike, and Paul breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Oh thank goodness,” he said. “I thought maybe you were going to sack me.” 

Strike looked exasperated. He found Paul’s enthusiasm and self-effacing demeanor hard to handle sometimes. 

“It’s by the Liverpool Street Station,” said Strike. “Used to be a hair salon. We’ll take possession in a few weeks. Paul, when Robin heads out for surveillance, I’ll go over some of the calls we have to make. Robin - ” Strike nodded his head towards her office. “Can I have a word?” He leaned over to Paul and said in almost a whisper, “Confidential - an update on a former client.” 

Robin picked up her laptop, and followed Strike into the office. He closed the door and held his finger to his lips. He walked over to the far corner, away from the door and the window, and she placed the laptop on the desk, and stepped over to join him. He pulled her to him, and she reached up to kiss him, running her hands across the lapels of the suit. 

“Nice haircut,” she said in a soft voice. 

“You noticed,” he replied, his hands sliding downwards from her waist.

“Is all this for me, or for my mother?” she asked, her lips buzzing against his earlobe, inhaling the scent of his aftershave.

“Ultimately, it’s always for you,” he whispered, bending his head to breathe into her hair. 

Robin let herself relax, for just a few seconds, allowing her body to meld into his, enjoying the warmth and the comfort. Then, hearing Paul laugh loudly in the main office, she straightened, and said, “Right. Better get to it.” She started to turn to reach for her laptop, but Strike pulled at her hand before she could move too far away.

“If it doesn’t go well, don’t worry about it,” he said.

“What? Mum?” she asked. “Or Her Majesty?” 

Strike laughed. “Definitely worry if you don’t get anything useful on Her Majesty today. We need to wrap that one up.”

“Don’t worry about her,” said Robin, with slightly more confidence than she felt. “She loved the suit, and I predict that by the end of the day, she’ll love you as well.” Then she said, more loudly, “I’m glad the information was useful,” and turned to open the door to the office. Strike moved to sit behind his desk, and the last thing she saw before she turned was him pulling out a cigarette and reaching to open the little office window. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say, except thank you for reading!


	5. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and her mother spend the day on a stakeout.

It took Robin and her mother about twenty minutes to travel to the little café that provided a decent view of the large university complex across the street. This was Robin’s third visit in two weeks, and the student behind the counter did not appear to recognize her, and did not remove her earphones when Robin ordered two cups of tea and some pastries for her and her mother.

“What are we watching for?” asked Linda in a whisper, while moving her head around quite obviously, as if expecting their target to be hanging on one of the walls. Robin nodded towards the building across the street. “Her husband thinks she’s having an affair. But I’ve overheard enough to know that she’s just gone back to school. He travels a lot and thinks the reason she’s not interested in his sports ramblings is due to another man, but I overheard her talking to a girlfriend last week and it seems she’s trying to expand her job prospects. He didn’t seem to believe my last report so I’m trying to get a photo of her leaving or entering the university, or studying. I saw her come in here last Monday, so if I can get a picture of her with a textbook, even better. I might need your help pretending if she does. Do you want to play along?”

“Oooh yes,” said Linda. “This  _ is  _ exciting. And I need some inspiration for my creative writing course. What happens if the husband still doesn’t believe you?”

“Unfortunately for her, the spouses often don’t believe us. But they keep paying, which is good for business.” Robin gave a hollow laugh. “It’s more profitable for us when the target is innocent, usually. In this case, the husband is quite well-off. He’s likely to pay for a few more weeks, just to make sure. Eventually he’ll realize that the problems are more internal, and despite the fact that he’s paying us to spy on his wife, I don’t think she’s in any danger. We consider these things before we take cases.” 

Robin had been conflicted about this particular case, once she had realized what was going on. She could relate to the target, a young woman who they called “Her Majesty,” because her husband was a well-known athlete, who seemed to enjoy having a wife who could afford not to work and live in luxury. The nickname did not seem appropriate anymore, and Robin had wondered how she would have felt had Matthew hired someone to follow  _ her.  _ She had not always been honest with her ex-husband, and, like the target she was watching today, her reasons had very much to do with self-improvement and nothing to do with infidelity. In the end, if she and Matthew had been more suited to each other, she knew that the secrecy would not have been necessary.

“So,” said Linda, using a tone that Robin knew was an attempt to sound overly casual. “A new office. The business really is doing well, then?”

“Really,” said Robin, with a slight chuckle. “You didn’t believe me?”

Linda sighed. “It’s not that I didn’t believe you. We just worry, you know. Dad and I.”

“Well, the business is doing very well,” said Robin. “In fact, once we move into the new space, the partnership will be official - ‘Strike and Ellacott’” on the door.”

Her mother smiled. “That  _ is  _ wonderful news.” She reached out and gave Robin’s hand a squeeze. “We  _ are  _ proud of you, you know. For your hard work, and even for leaving Matthew. We knew he wasn’t right, but we didn’t want to interfere. It was very difficult to sit back and watch things unravel.”

Inwardly, Robin rolled her eyes. Her mother liked to dwell on the past in this way and she did not want any of her news of the day tainted with mention or memory of Matthew. She knew she couldn’t erase his existence from her life history, but hearing his name today felt like an unwelcome intrusion. But Robin also knew that this was probably her mother’s way of opening up the conversation to try and discuss the more personal aspects of her daughter’s life. So she just squeezed her mother’s hand back and they sat in silence for a moment, Robin checking her watch and glancing occasionally out the window.

Linda broke the silence. “Cormoran is looking quite fit.” 

“Mum!” said Robin, very nearly choking on the tea she had just sipped. But before she could comment further, the sight of students pouring out of the entrance across the street caught her eye. She saw a tall, slim brunette with a very stylish and brightly-colored shoulder bag heading down the steps towards the street. Not taking her eyes off of the target, she said quietly to her mother, “That’s her, she’s coming over. Long hair, bright red bag. Follow my lead.” Although she knew that her phone likely would not pick up too much detail, she held it up quickly and snapped a photograph through the window glass. Even if they could not verify the target, the timestamp and location data would help to reinforce any clearer images she obtained in the café. 

Robin sat down and smiled at her mother. She said quickly, “Depending on where she sits, I might ask you to take a photo - just make sure you get her in the background.” 

Her Majesty entered the café, stopped at the counter for a coffee, and looked around for a spot to sit. She settled a few tables over from Robin and Linda, and pulled a heavy-looking book out of her bag. It landed on the table with a thud. Then she reached for a notebook and pen, and settled in to study. It was perfect. 

Robin pulled a similarly large Psychology textbook out of her bag and nodded to her mother. Linda smiled and said, a little too loudly, “Your father and I are so proud! Here, let me get a photograph with you and your book. Your brother thinks you’re just in London for the parties. This will prove him wrong!”

Robin then posed, several times, with her book while Linda photographed, shared pictures with Robin, and re-positioned her. At one point Linda even stood and zoomed in with the camera as far as it would go in order to detail the title on the textbook’s spine, just as Her Majesty pulled up the front cover to flip through the book. Robin made a show of giggling and rolling her eyes at her mother, trying to act embarrassed at the impromptu photo shoot. Scrolling through the images, she said, “These are great, Mum. I’ll send them to you and you can share them with Dad and Martin all you want.” 

They sat at the table chatting for a while longer, Robin explaining some of the concepts from her textbook and Linda talking about the frustrations of her writing course. After almost an hour, Her Majesty finished her coffee, packed up her bag, and left the café. Robin managed to snap another photograph of her as she walked out the door, her mother grinning broadly in the foreground.

“You’re a good luck charm!” Robin said, slipping her phone into her pocket. “That was amazing. And I think we’re done. But let’s sit a while longer and catch up for real.”

“Oh good,” said Linda. “We’ve hardly had a chance to  _ really  _ talk. So tell me about this office. And where will Cormoran go? He’ll have to move as well. Has he found a flat?” 

Robin felt her heart pound in her chest. She wasn’t entirely sure why she felt so nervous, and felt her cheeks burn. “The new office has a vacant flat on the upper floors. It’s beautiful. Loads larger and more modern than what he has now.” She picked up her fork and moved around some of the pastry crumbs on her plate. 

“Convenient for him, though,” said Linda. “Will it be a longer or shorter trip for you?”

The moment had arrived. Robin inhaled and, willing herself to look directly at her mother to see her reaction, she said, “He’s asked me to share the flat with him.”

Linda looked confused. “Share? It’s that big? Won’t that be a bit awkward?”

Robin shook her head. “I… we… don’t mind…” Robin searched for appropriate words. “...spending time together.” 

For a moment, Linda Ellacott’s face was blank. Then she nodded, a slight smile forming at her mouth, although her eyes held some concern. “How long…”

“Just since February,” said Robin quickly. “Not until after…” 

Linda’s gaze softened. “We always suspected, of course.”

“Of course? Had a pool going at the pub, eh?” Robin joked, the tension already leaving her shoulders. She relaxed.

“Well, not quite, dear. But your brothers were suspicious.”

“My brothers should get a life.” 

“Mmm. Well. That’s a different discussion. But overall, they are in favor. Several of them were disappointed that you weren’t kidnapped from your wedding.”

Robin looked down. “The truth is, I would have gone with him if he’d asked. But I don’t think I’d change anything. I left Matthew because of Matthew, not because of Cormoran. I’m happy with that.”

Linda sighed. “I was quite angry with him after the Shacklewell Ripper. But I see now that he seems to know you better than any of us. I  _ am _ happy for you. Truly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult for me to write, because I had to actually, you know, come up with some sort of plot about the surveillance target. I hope it makes sense.


	6. The Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Linda meet Strike for dinner, and he opens up about some things.

Robin texted Strike from the café and arranged to meet him for dinner at one of their favorite restaurants in Chinatown. 

**Good day with Mum - GREAT pictures of HM. Think we’ll have a nice time tonight. Xxx**

Strike let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he was holding in. 

**Should I keep the suit? X**

**Mum and I both like the suit, but you can slip into something more comfortable. Xxx**

Grinning to himself, he removed his tie, and finished his work day. Before leaving, he went upstairs to change into more relaxing trousers and a casual shirt. Feeling much lighter, he set off towards Chinatown. Strike approached the restaurant at the same time as Robin and her mother turned the corner. They were laughing over something, and the misty light from the setting sun gave the appearance of a halo around their heads. Linda reached out and squeezed Robin’s shoulders as they slowly walked towards him. Strike stopped, and wished there had been time to light a cigarette. As they grew closer, Robin looked up, and waved to him, and he raised his hand in response, feeling oddly formal.

Robin and Linda stopped in front of him. Strike stood still, unsure of what the appropriate greeting should be. He nodded. Robin and Linda both smiled at him and after what seemed like a very long moment, Robin stepped forward, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “We’re starving. Ate several pastries this afternoon, but nothing else.” 

“I know better than to make you wait any longer,” Strike responded, reaching for the door, and holding it open for them. One of the regular waiters greeted them fondly, and showed them to a corner table, set for three.

Once they had placed their orders and drinks had been delivered, Robin and Linda recounted the day’s events at the café. 

“Now we can add another potential contractor to the list,” said Strike, addressing Linda. “Would be good to be able to expand outside of London.” 

“Oh, you’re sweet,” said Linda. “Maybe once in a while. But do you know who needs a job? My son, Martin! What do you reckon, Robin? Has he got what it takes?”

“He might,” said Robin. “But I don’t think I could handle managing him.” Strike enjoyed listening to Robin and her mother bicker about the other Ellacott children. Robin often mentioned her brothers, but he felt he still knew very little that was concrete about her earlier childhood, or her relationships with her siblings. Now he was confirming the impression that they were a close family, with the usual minor tensions and dramas that caused both fondness and irritation, even as adults.

Linda seemed keenly interested in Strike’s childhood. She asked him a great many questions about his mother, Leda, and what it had been like living in different places as a child. She was curious about his sister, Lucy, and her family, and about Strike’s aunt and uncle in Cornwall. He was unaccustomed to being grilled so thoroughly in one sitting - most people did not dare - but found that he did not mind answering all of Linda’s questions. She seemed thirsty for the information, and Strike had the sense that the more he opened up, the more comfortable she felt in his presence. He reminded himself that she must be as nervous as he was, and he noticed that she finished her first drink rather quickly, and was starting on her second before the appetizers had even been finished.

When Linda excused herself to use the toilet, Robin reached out and squeezed Strike’s hand. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I should have warned you about the possibility of interrogation. We should probably stop her from ordering a third cocktail.”

“It’s okay,” said Strike. “She doesn’t really know me, or anything about my family, and she’s used to being around familiar things. Most people aren’t so direct. It’s refreshing.” 

“I’m learning some new things,” smiled Robin. “Next time I think I might plant some questions.” 

“Like what?”

“Like… can you sing?” At that moment, Linda returned to her seat. “Oooh!  _ Can  _ you?” she asked. “I did wonder, it’s in your genes after all.” 

Strike hesitated. This was a topic that he might be inclined to dismiss. But Robin had asked the original question and he felt that it would be awkward to stop sharing now. “I have been told that I can,” he answered, slowly.

“Told?” asked Robin. 

Strike’s mother had done everything in her power to instill music appreciation in both of her children. She had tried to encourage Strike to learn the guitar, usually asking her musician friends to sit with him. He gave it as much of an effort as any unmotivated child did towards music lessons, which was to say, not much. Even when he was young, he had sensed that everyone was expecting his biological father’s voice to come out of his mouth. And in those rare moments when someone caught him singing along to the radio or a record album, comparisons were usually made. Unable to judge his own singing voice, and unwilling to record himself, he took their word for it, and did not consider it a compliment. His brief time at Oxford had coincided with a surge in popularity of karaoke, and once, after an evening of cheap pints, Charlotte had persuaded him to give it a go. Thinking he’d selected “Faith” by George Michael, he headed to the stage, only to have someone switch the song to one of the Deadbeats’ early hits. With Charlotte watching, he had decided to carry on with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, and his performance ended with a standing ovation. However, rather than pride, he had felt terrible afterwards, as though he had released some sort of dark magic that was better off suppressed.

Strike decided not to tell this story. Instead, he said, “On the very rare occasion that people have heard me sing, they’ve told me I sound like Rokeby. Which means, in answer to your question, Robin, I cannot sing.” 

Linda snorted. “Well, millions and millions of people around the world might disagree with you.”

Strike snorted and vocalized something he had always thought but had never had occasion or desire to say out loud. “I won’t deny that he’s written some songs that have merit. But he’s a shit singer. Freddy Mercury - he can sing. Paul McCartney - voice like a choir boy. Any 80s pop star - Andy Bell, Dave Gahan, Martin Fry - powerful vocal chords. But Rokeby? Mick Jagger? Even Bowie. Frontmen, yes. Vocal performers, perhaps. Singers? No.”

Strike sat back and crossed his arms, challenging them with a satisfied look to disagree with him. Robin and Linda laughed.

They lingered in the restaurant for several more hours. Linda did order a third cocktail, and Robin shrugged her shoulders and shot Strike a defeated look. Finally, Robin reminded her mother that she was due to catch an early train the next morning, and that Robin and Strike had a full schedule for Tuesday. Linda sighed as they stood and started to collect their things. “Back to reality for me, I suppose,” she said. “It has been a lovely few days. And so much to tell your father. He’ll only hear half of it so this should give me several months-worth of stories.”

“I’ll walk you to the Tube,” said Strike, and they turned to head towards Leicester Square. They walked slowly; the streets were relatively crowded and well-lit, filled mostly with theater-goers leaving their shows, and Robin slipped her arm through Strike’s as they made their way. When they reached the entrance to the station, they all paused. Strike was steeling himself for another awkward moment, when Linda leaned over, gave him a firm hug, and said, “Good luck with everything. I can’t wait to see the new place, the next time I’m in London.” She pulled away. “I’ve told Robin you need to invest in a sofa bed! No one should have to sleep on that cot.” 

Strike glanced at Robin, who was looking happy and a little shy. She nodded at him. “Not a problem,” he said.

“And,” said Linda, “You’ll have to come with Robin when she drives up to Masham to collect her things. Pick a weekend. We’ve got no plans.”

“We’ll work it out,” said Robin, giving Strike a quick kiss, and then reaching out to steer her mother into the station. Linda seemed likely to keep talking for some time. “I might be a little late in the morning,” Robin told Strike. “Mum’s train leaves a few minutes after 9, and I want to see her to the station.” 

“All right,” said Strike. “Safe travels.” Linda turned once more and waved, and he watched them enter the station together. He waited until they were out of sight before reaching in his pocket for his cigarettes, and then, with a contented sigh, turned to walk toward Denmark Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! Thank you everyone for reading. I really can't believe that I finished an entire story, but this process has been very therapeutic. And it's a good way to pass the time - only a few more weeks until Troubled Blood. I'm excited (and a little scared) to read it, but also looking forward to the fan fiction it will hopefully inspire! Also, I hope anyone here who is in the UK enjoys the Lethal White premier. Who knows when we will get it in the US....


End file.
